


Secret Language

by kriszeth, Mouse9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU human form, F/M, Other Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 02:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriszeth/pseuds/kriszeth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: Meg and Castiel have always had a way between them.  Now, on the oncoming of Dean Winchesters exit from bachelorhood, Castiel discovers he and Meg can still communicate without saying much at all.





	1. Harvelle's

“Break out the beer!”  

It’s the first thing Castiel hears Dean say when he enters Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Late as always, though now he has the excuse of having gotten absolutely turned around trying to find the bar.  

“First round’s on me! This is a celebration, people!”

Everyone cheers as the bartender lines up bottles on the bar.  Castiel aproaches Dean, frowning at the blond number that tucks herself under his friend’s arm, before raising her own bottle in tribute and taking a swig.

Castiel glances at the other side of the bar, where Lisa and Cassey sit glaring at the couple, glasses full on the table in clear defiance to the proceedings. They form the “Dean Winchester Unbreakables”, women that Dean used to date, even for months at a time, but never really got to commit to.  

_ Ominous _ , Castiel thinks, accepting the beer Dean hands him. He looks around the usual suspects making merry and wonders what’s going on.

“Celebrating what?” he asks and the toothy grin the cute blond throws him when she shows off the rock on her left ring finger is answer enough.

Castiel’s eyes widen, darting from the rock, to the blond, to Dean and finally back.

“Congratulations?”

His tone must be off, because Dean finally remembers Castiel has yet to officially meet blondie here, so he gets properly introduced to Joanna Beth Harvelle, whose mother, Ellen, is the proud owner and bartender of the bar.

“The time was just right, ya know?” Dean explains, a besotted smile replacing his usual smirk as he looks down at Jo, who grins up at him.  Her perky nose wrinkles as she reaches up for a kiss.

It’s cute.

It also makes Castiel want to vomit and there’s no alcohol on his system yet.

Five hours later, the group has dwindled, but the celebration’s still in full swing. Old lovers got well and truly wasted, dreams of ever getting back together with the unmarriageable Dean Winchester forever lost, as they file out one by one in a pitiful walk of shame that the happy couple don’t even notice, slow dancing around the tables to REO Speedwagon completely oblivious to everyone else.

Castiel hates it all and he’s still _sober_. To be honest, he’s not in a party mood, no matter how happy or auspicious the reason.  His love life is utter crap, he’s currently homeless and single, the whipping boy of the universe. And here is Dean Fucking Winchester flourishing, living the high life, very much in his face. A beautiful woman, a happy home, a good job.  

_ Completely unfair _ , he thinks.

Just this morning, Castiel had broken up with his most recent girlfriend. After only one week,  _ one-fucking-week, _ of living together, she kicked him out of the apartment and then proceeded to toss all of his belongings out the window.

Castiel had spent  _ months _ looking for that apartment. He had  _ loved _ that fucking apartment.  And all was lost because of a stupid misunderstanding.

Castiel kind of wants to be mad at Dean, but he can’t muster enough anger for it.  It’s not that he’s not happy for his friend, but if Dean hadn’t made him promise to be  _ here _ , he wouldn’t have come. So, he sits there, lacking motivation to even get drunk enough and wallow in his sorrows, picking at the label of his now flat beer and lamenting the fact that the universe hates him.  

He heaves a gutsy sigh, eyes following the path his fingers make on the glass. The condensation drips down the long neck and he follows up the trail with a thumb to gather the moisture and circle the lip of the bottle and then letting its mouth suck his thumb in. And then out. In and out.

In. And then out.

Castiel watches his fingers, transfixed and thankful that his mind’s blank at the moment. When someone kickes his shin, it causes his knee to jump and bang hard on the underside of the table, almost making him spill beer all over himself.  He looks up, frowning, into a pair of wide dark eyes.

Meg sits across from him, beer bottle frozen halfway to her mouth, staring incredulously back.

All around them are hoots and catcalls. Everyone probably imagines something other than bruises happening.

Castiel is not exactly sure what’s Meg’s doing here. Dean and Meg hate each other and use any opportunity to show it, but he guesses it’s because now Sam is dating Meg’s cousin, Ruby.

And exactly  _ when _ did that happen?

Castiel tilts his head in a silent question, a leftover understanding from the time when they used to date, when they had fashioned an almost secret language of gestures, signs and covert looks to communicate.

It’s still how a majority of their conversations happen and it tends to drive everyone crazy, especially Dean, which is probably why Meg enjoys it so much.

Thinking back, Castiel can’t honestly remember why they broke up, but then it comes to mind a flash of tears -mostly his-, a madcap chase from the police; breaking into a carnival, a clown costume and a tricycle. Not exactly in that order.

Meg keeps on scowling, staring pointedly first at the bottle he’s still absently caressing and then at him, lips painted in crimson thinning into a severe line.

Castiel looks down in confusion, blinks when he notices exactly what he had been doing, but when he looks back up, Meg has already turned back to her conversation with Ruby, cheeks rosy. Though, if it was by anger or arousal, it can only be his guess.

With a roll of a shoulder in not quite an apology, that Meg seems to catch by the corner of her eye, if her huff and shaking head are answer enough, Castiel takes a swig from his warm beer, contemplating if he should call it a night already or just give in and get irremediably drunk.

(His brother Gabriel had suggested so after Cas recounted his relationship mishap earlier while asking for sanctuary on his “bachelor pad”, which was a fancy term for “single guy apartment sparsely furnished but still impossible to navigate through without stepping on something undesirable thanks to all the crap and garbage hoarded over time, what color is even the floor?”. His brother needed a woman in his life way more that Castiel did.)

Speaking of women, Meg is back to glaring. He frowns at her, if nothing else to pass the time and watches her cheeks darken under his scrutiny. A thought pops into his head and he allows a smirk to pull at his lips as he caresses the mouth of his beer with unscrupulous slowness, taking small sips, and letting her see his tongue plunging into it with kitten licks, and then smiling innocently every time she throws another glare his way.

Castiel remembers that particular glare quite well. Meg is turned on and he feels daring enough, not to mention bored, to play up their old flirting game, the rush of it consuming and making it impossible to stop.

Castiel should feel bad. It is one thing to arouse a lover with wordless promises of fulfillment, and quite another to fuck with someone you aren’t exactly on speaking terms, just because your life currently sucks. It’s not Meg’s fault. But he has the sudden, maddening  _ need _ to push her until she gives into it. Into  _ him _ .

Once more, for old time’s sake.

His eyes slide down her body, stopping at the loose shirt she wears, where he can barely make out the outline of her hardened nipples showing. It makes his throat feel dry like the desert in summer when he tries to swallow.

Meg doesn’t notice him staring -Thank God-, too busy arguing with Ruby in short bursts of angry whispers, or he would be nursing a black eye right about now.  

Castiel knows it’s finally on when he notices Meg fidget in her seat, opening and closing her hands into fists, breath short and quick and angry. It’s been so long since he last touched her, but it’s so easy to remember the way her skin burned under his hands, the taste of her lips and arousal.

He watches, waiting, as Ruby keeps asking Meg things he doesn’t quite catch, watches as Meg shakes her head, signaling for another beer and snapping back at her cousing words he can’t neither hear nor care about.

Castiel never stops to wonder what has possessed him to provoke her this way.

The bickering goes on for the length of time it takes for Meg’s new beer to appear, but Ruby confiscates it before Ellen can put it on the table.  They glare at each other into an impasse as Ellen sensibly backs away. Castiel hides his grin with another pull of his beer, only to discover the bottle is empty.

Meg stands up suddenly, wobbling a bit and slamming a hand onto the table to steady herself, catching the notice of everyone still at the table.

“Lightweight!” Dean hollers with a smirk. “Taping out already, Masters?”

“Bathroom,” she grits out and Castiel briefly wonders if it’s an answer to Dean or an order for him.

Oblivious, Dean wraps an arm around Jo and takes a long swallow of beer.

Castiel still can’t quite believe Dean is going to marry the girl who broke his nose before she even learned his name The recounting of their first meeting had been told as if it were the stuff romance’s made of.

Sam shoots a look at Ruby, who shakes her head, before going back to his conversation with his brother.

Turning his head, Cas watches Meg’s wobbly progress towards the back of the bar and admires the way her legs look in that tiny jean skirt that used to be his favorite.

He glances back at his friends as Ruby gets up to go cuddle next to Sam. Garth’s telling a happily drunk Ash some sort of story that involves expressive arm movements and… _was that a_ _sock puppet_?

Castiel catches Dean’s worried looks at the pair, but everyone is pretty much involved in their own thing and not paying any of attention to him.

He glances at his watch. Five minutes have passed, but he waits for another five, just for the hell of it, ordering another beer and sipping as he pretends to listen to his friends, before he puts down the bottle and slides out of his seat.

“Gotta drain the lizard, Cas?”  Dean calls out. Castiel waves away his comment as he would an annoying fly.

He makes his way towards the back of the bar, the music already quieter back here, turning the corner to the small hallway and almost running into a girl walking out the bathroom.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you,” Castiel gives her his most non-threatening smile and widens his baby blue eyes, knowing his innocent act is bought when the girl’s scowl disappears and she starts to smile coyly back. “My sister went into the bathroom because she wasn’t feeling well; could you tell me if she’s still in there?  She’s five feet two, blue eyes…?”

The girl practically melts at his brotherly chivalry. "Sorry, there's only this angry blond dyed girl inside. I don't think there was anyone else sick in the stalls either. But I can check out for you if you want me?”

"No, no, thank you, I think I'll try her cell again. Sorry to bother you."

“No problem. And good luck finding your sister."

He nods his thanks, pulls out his phone and waits until the girl turns the corner before he pockets it again and pushes open the door. He’s pleasantly surprised the door can lock from the inside when he’s in.

“Go away Castiel.” Is the first thing out of Meg's mouth, a little slur marring her angry dismissal, voice in that sexy husky tone that still makes his dick twitch inside his pants.

Castiel laughs quietly, but it’s a bitter sound, disappointed at not being called Clarence as he steps closer.

"Hello, Meg."

Meg snarls, leaning heavily on the tiled sink with both palms, the skin on her hands blanched from exertion. Castiel can almost feel the shiver that travels her body just at the sound of the gravel in his own voice, an octave lower thanks to lust.

"I said. Fuck.  _ Off _ ." She growls, looking at him through the mirror, sweat already beading her forehead and making her bangs stick to her pale skin in a beautiful contrast.

She looks feverish, eyes bright in the fluorescent light and the blush on her cheeks only makes the red lipstick on her full lips stand out.  Her mascara and eyeliner are smudged, clearly from when she tried to cool her arousal with cold water, though it’s useless. They both know it’s useless.  

Meg has never been one to tap down her baser instincts.  She eats when hungry, sleeps when tired, fucks when aroused… and by God, does she look aroused. Not that Castiel fairs better.

Her dark eyes follow him through the mirror until he stands right behind her, front flush against her back and pushing her against the curved edge of the sink so her clit is at the perfect height to get a little friction -which can’t be sanitary-, letting her feel how hard he is. And then he waits again.

When Meg hangs her head, it is a concession, silent permission for his hands to finally touch her. Castiel wastes no time sliding his right palm under her sleveless blouse, feeling her muscle clench under his fingertips. He’s delighted to find Meg isn’t wearing a bra, her small breast perky and nipple pebbled, rolling easily under the balls of his thumb and index finger, just as he imagined back at the table.

He inhales the smell of the sweat at the base of her neck, feeling her rapid pulse and uses his free hand to move her raven locks to the side, licking into her skin and leaving a wet trail to the juncture where neck meets shoulder. When his teeth sink into her, he can hear her moan.

_ Finally. _

Castiel laps at the red mark left with a pleased hum that makes her tremble. He looks under his lashes the way Meg bits her own lips, angry at having let out that small sound of encouragement.

As if Castiel needed it to know she was already too far gone to stop now.

He pinches hard Meg’s nipple, before moving to her other breast. In the mirror, their eyes follow his left hand drifting downwards to Meg’s bare hip, just where her skirt rides low, and pushing into her harder from behind so she bends slightly forward, one of her hands now bracing her on the mirror for better leverage when she goes on tip toes.

Castiel has her exactly where he wants her, panting and helpless and angry and really, really turned on.

His left palm slides down further, now under her skirt, now on the inside of her thigh, to the piece of thread she dares call underwear. He’s not surprised to find how wet Meg is, but he loves the way she mewls when he rubs her hard through the flimsy barrier, in time with the way his hips push her clit against the sink’s edge.

The raging hard-on he brought into the bathroom borders on painful and his own breathing speeds up. Castiel can just imagine how it’d feel to be inside her after so long, grunting when Meg pushes back into his cock and down harder into his hand. There’s hardly any resistance when he moves her thong aside to slip two fingers inside, crooking them up and pushing at the front wall where he knows her most sensitive spot is (his wrist will kill him tomorrow. It’s worth it).

“I don’t have a condom.” It’s a lie, of course, but he wonders how far he can push Meg.

She shudders, hard, to a stop, a disbelieving huff scaping and then turning into a sharp gasp when he doesn’t stop fingering her. She lets go of her lower lip and hangs her head, so that all he can see is the way her jaw locks, teeth gritted, trying to get back some measure of control of her body.

He does not give her time for it, still pumping his fingers in languid deep strokes until she looks up into the ceiling, posture relaxing in defeat as she leans her head back until it hits his breastbone –Meg’s not tall enough to reach his shoulder-, once, twice, before shaking her head, keening in an effort to keep in her moans.

“I have an IUD.” Meg sounds dazed, swallowing hard while she looks at him through the mirror under half-lidded eyes.

With her pupils blown and chest heaving, she looks like the best wet dream Castiel has ever had, let alone live through, and he almost embarrasses himself in his pants, wondering how he had forgotten  _ this _ .

“Beautiful,” he says, pinching the nipple he’d been tending to, so it matches its twin, and then using that hand to open his pants. He tugs down his boxers just enough for his hard-on to spring free and push into Meg in a long, slow slide.

They stop breathing until he’s all the way in. Meg is warm and wet and tight and  _ perfect _ , and then he shrugs her off his breastbone so that she braces herself better against the mirror once more, while he fastens a hand on her hip to anchor her in place as he begins thrusting.

Meg gasps, rolls her hips against him, following his cock as he briefly pulls out, only to buck back in hard enough to make her choke on her own spit. A piteous moan follows, and it takes him a minute to understand he’s the one making that pained sound.

Castiel sucks into the red mark left on Meg’s shoulder, pressing their hips together into a pace that is hungry and hard and bruising and still painfully, torturously, slow.

Meg turns her head to the side when he presses lips to her cheek, setting what’s off-limits for the first time tonight. He continues his path unbothered to her ear to bites into her lobe, almost chastising, and then soothes her with his tongue tracing the shell of her ear, not even noticing he stopped thrusting.

Meg brings him back impaling herself back into his cock, breathing heavy through her nose. The way her eyes shut and the tight clenched jaw, twists her face into an ugly grimace. Maybe in another attempt to drown her gasps and moans, though he can hear the little noises she makes, can feel the low vibrations in Meg’s throat once he goes back to nibble on it, burying the hand still slick with her juices in her hair and pulling at the roots, blunt nails against her scalp.

When he pulls away again, to force himself to breathe -and when did he stop?-, his vision is fuzzy, head spinning, but Meg only has to cover his hand -where he’s leaving angry marks at her right hip-, to pull him closer.

Castiel leans forward again to kiss Meg’s forehead before he presses back in  _ slowly,  _ like…

"Castiel," Meg’s voice sound almost like a breathless plead as her entire body vibrates, hips stuttering back and forth in the almost non-existent space he left her in between himself and the sink, where she keeps rubbing herself.

It makes something inside Castiel flare white-hot, makes him crush their bodies together, and slam back in once, twice, before stopping once more.

Meg almost sobs.

For a moment, all they can hear are their gasps. And how had Castiel forgotten just how good  _ this _ felt? After so many years apart, and Meg’s still the best fuck he’s ever had.

"What?" he asks in a raspy voice as he swallows, letting their hips smack and then stop. "What do you want?"

He might even give it to her.

"Move," her voice is broken glass and cutting edges, all scorching heat and self-loathing, as Meg tilts her head to the side where all he can see are are the marks left there. "Move!"

Meg moans long and low when Castiel finally does.

_ Slowly _ .

"Like this?" he asks and every stroke feels like a lifetime.

Meg glowers at him through the mirror, flushed and not deigning to answer, but pushing back into him. It makes Castiel want to break her further, and then it dawns on him that he  _ can _ , without any kind of future repercussion.

He grounds his pelvis with renewed intent, loving the way Meg finally lets herself go and cries out loud, digging her nails into Castiel’s arm at her hip. In retaliation, Castiel pulls her close so he can latch his mouth onto her neck. He licks and sucks and bites, snapping his hips  _ harder _ .

"Harder!" Meg complains as he sets a harder rhythm, relentlessly trying to alleviate the ache in his cock now that he feels like he has her completely at his mercy.

"Faster," Meg cries, bucking, anger evaporating into something more primal.

"I know." Castiel breathes, and complies. "I know."

Castiel knows when Meg reaches the edge, because she still bites her lips hard enough to draw blood and there's that strangled noise deep in her throat as her walls tighten around his cock, milking him in tremors until everything is white and he’s coming so hard, he’s sure he lost a little time there.

He comes to Meg making this little kitten noises that betray how oversensitive her orgasm left her, body completely bent over the sink, and for a moment Castiel thinks she’s crying, she’s trembling so hard, but he can’t see her face, still buried deep inside her.

A sick rolling feeling begins to replace the euphoria of his afterglow, freezing him in place as he gulps in air, trying to think what his next move should be. It makes Castiel feel like the asshole he’s been depicting all through the night for the first time.

Soon, though, her tremors quiet, and he slips out slowly, wincing at the feel of his come and her slick slipping down her thighs. He lets himself lean on his bare ass onto the sink beside her -this  _ really _ cannot be sanitary-, feeling exhausted and raw, stomach twisting into a hard knot.

“Go away Castiel.” Meg finally murmurs, still swallowing convulsively, voice tired and hushed, not meeting his eyes, not even through the mirror.

“Sorry,” he tells her and hopes she hears what he really means by it -not that he knows-.

The only thing he can do is pull up his pants and leave her alone. When he glances back as he unlocks the door, Meg looks used and sad under the fake lights, standing there in the sink with her head hanging low, anger and lust spent, still trembling as if in shock, thighs glistening with their come.

Castiel goes back to the table, where he proceeds to get so drunk, he never notices if Meg comes back or when she leaves the bar.

He keeps telling himself it was bound to happen, because history kept repeating between them, again and again.


	2. chapter 2

Castiel suppresses an annoyed sigh.

Even though Jo explained that if she has to go through this wedding hell, Dean is to suffer with her through every step of the way, Castiel not exactly sure why Dean’s still at the bridal shop.

_Isn’t bad luck to see the bride’s gown before the ceremony?_

And he's still confused about Jo’s brilliant idea to make Meg her Maid of Honor, while Dean mints him as Best Man. From what vague knowledge he has, Jo doesn't have a lot of close friends, but there had to be someone else out there to be _the_ bridesmaid. Meg and Jo are not friends. Castiel _knows_ they had just met at Harvelle’s last month, and he'll eat his trench coat if they have even traded more words than _Nice to meet you_.

But Castiel doesn't care.

He has enough to think about the dubious honor of being a Best Man, when the job should have gone to Sam. But when he said so to the younger Winchester, he got a clap on the back and a "Have fun." from Sam. And then he was left alone with an anxious groom, an angry bride, an exasperated future mother-in-law, and an indifferent maid of honor.

Castiel does not call _that_ having fun.

Since her arrival, Meg hasn’t talked to him. Or even acknowledge his existence. Not after the disastrous moment in the women’s bathroom last month.

Meg actually looks pissed. In that cold collected way she has when she doesn’t want to fight, but is still machinating how to make your life difficult. Castiel wonders if she's pissed at _him,_ and _that_ he cares about an awful lot.

They sit awkwardly on the couch at the Bridal Shop’s dressing room, not looking at each other but for the little glances Castiel steals of Meg through the mirror. Jo and Ellen change dresses behind a curtain and Dean paces around them, impatient.

Castiel squints at the mirror when Meg takes a sip of her complimentary champagne, and notices how she looks at him from under her lashes, a smirk pulling up the right side of her mouth. It takes him a moment to understand she’s actually provoking him.

 _Flirting_.

Castiel swallows, but can’t stop staring as her tongue follows the rim of the flute. Apparently, even pissed Meg's not above taking her rage out on his body’s answering heat. To be honest, Castiel is happy to encourage her. But with Dean pacing, he might notice Castiel’s pants tenting if they keep up their game, so he decides it's best to look away.

He lasts a minute before glancing back when Meg crosses and uncrosses her legs. If she had been wearing a skirt, Castiel would have gotten a nice flash right about now. Not that the clothed spectacle is any less enticing. Especially when her low riding jeans look painted on her thighs and slim hips. Not that Castiel stared when she arrived to the shop, no. But he stares now as Meg peels herself from her leather jacket with sinuous movements. It makes her small breasts perk up at the change of temperature –No bra. _Again._ -, leaving her in a black tank top that rides up a little to show her bellybutton.

Meg keeps on drinking, caressing the flute’s stem as if it is a favorite pastime. Castiel feels his cheeks flare up as he imagines those small hands somewhere else on his anatomy.

 _This is not the place to have these images running through my brain_ , he thinks as he stares, transfixed. They're inside a bridal shop dressing room with the main party for the wedding. They might bet busted. Castiel glances at his best friend. Dean passes him once more on his circuit around the room, oblivious. If it had been any other time, Castiel would be getting an angry lecture about keeping his junk inside his pants.

His thoughts get interrupted when Meg rises to her feet. And he watches as she makes her way towards where the assistants pointed the bathroom was. Their eyes meet once through the mirror before she's gone, making Castiel gulp. He looks back at Dean, who keeps sending panicked glances at the closed curtain. They can barely hear Dean's bride and mother-in-law trade angry whispers.

Castiel counts to five before standing up. As he slips out after Meg, he hopes Dean freaking out is distraction enough not to notice their absence. When he enters the bathroom, Meg is leaning against the sink. And this time she looks right at him, arms crossed over her chest. Castiel leans back against the closed door, hiding his trembling hands inside the pockets of his slacks. He feels nervous.

They stare at each other for a moment and Castiel bites his tongue. He doesn't want to say something first and fuck up; knowing everything he's been craving for the last month is but a few steps away. And under his skin, tiny sparks ignite. Castiel wants to let them turn into a wildfire.

"This is so fucked up," Meg says, shaking her head.

It is all Castiel needs to step closer until they're flush against each other. The way her breathing picks up does amazing things to her breasts, and he reaches out a hand to cup the back of her head. He tugs at her hair until she looks up to him. Meg lets him, baring her throat in defiance -not resignation like last time. It brings a smirk to his lips.

Their breath mingles enticingly, both on the edge of panting. And her mouth is right there, tantalizing. Castiel wonders what Meg will do if he kisses her. Not that he will, no. After all, who’s stupid enough to refuse sex with Meg? And for what? A kiss? No, he'll get more respecting her boundaries.

Instead, Castiel bends enough to bite her neck. He feels her relax into the pain and pleasure of it, watching her eyes flutter close before his do.

Her hands claw at the button of his slacks, though it's clumsy and gets them nowhere. Meg's hands tend to be swift and precise -She's a nurse after all-, and to feel her fumble around only kindles something dark in him. He wonders if she's still trying to provoke him.

Irritated, he swats her hand away to dispose of his slacks himself. He lets them fall with his boxers to bundle at his ankles before he focuses on peeling her out of her jeans. Meg looks so hot under the fluorescent lights, standing there only in her tank top and the ridiculous triangle of cloth barely covering her sex.

Castiel shivers when her nails burn a path up the skin of his arms, and then rake down from his shoulders, pecs, stomach; until they reach his hipbones. Her thumbs dig in. He bites back a scream and decides to retaliate.

"Fuck!" Meg hisses when he tugs at her flimsy thong. The fabric stretches and rubs against her sex providing stimulus.

Castiel’s breath stutters when she finally wraps a small hand around his cock, stroking in time with the little tugs he gives to her underwear. It feels better than he remembers, but if he doesn't stop her this will be over before it even begins.

With a hand on her wrist to still her, he grabs her by the ass and lifts her into the closest flat surface, which is the sink at her back.

 _We really need to stop doing this in bathrooms_.

It doesn't stop him from stepping inside her parted thighs and tug at her thong again, just hard enough for the fabric to rip. Meg buckles, throwing her head back. For a moment Castiel fears the mirror behind her will break. Meg distracts him when her hands tangle into his hair, pulling him closer to her chest.

"I can't be gentle..." Castiel rasps, teeth grazing her skin. They both hear his unspoken _with you_.

Meg huffs tartly.

"I don't want _gentle_." She snaps, pulling harder. He stumbles forward and his poor nose collides painfully into her sternum. Meg only keeps steering him downward.

"Just _fuck me_." She pants, anticipating his next move.

Castiel lets himself fall to his knees and winces in regret. Meg laughs delighted at his pained grunt. In retaliation, he bites into her labia, making her choke.

"Fuck," she groans, her hips already moving in sinuous circles on his mouth and chin. If she's not careful she'll get beard burn from his five-o'clock.

The thought of her feeling him even after this ends makes him smirk. He takes the opportunity to bite down on her thigh and then move back to lick into the damp skin surrounding her clit, so that he can part her with his tongue. The grip on his hair tightens, pulling at the root just the way he likes it. He flicks at her with his tongue, her taste bursting on his mouth and coating his taste buds. Meg floods all his senses until all he can feel are her thighs squeeze his head and cover his ears. Castiel fights her grip for a little space when it gets to be too much, and when he looks up into her blown pupils and licks two fingers in a tease, her body jerks forward with a desperate plea.

Meg shoves a hand into her mouth when he fingers her hard and fast, muffling a scream against her palm. He grabs her hips to keep her still, trying to avoid another sprained wrist after _that_ particular incident.

She slides a little forward against the ceramic under her, back pressing against the metal water spout – _That’s gonna hurt._ -, as her heels dig into his shoulder blades. Her thighs encase his head once more, leaning for support as they quiver. The hand on his hair pulls now handfuls of his t-shirt, asking for more. He complies with his tongue flat on her clit before he sucks the bud.

"So close, so close," she mutters breathless, almost to herself. It surprises Castiel. It always took him longer to please Meg without actual penetration.

He presses his palm against her clit as he adds a third finger inside. His other hand presses down her tummy to keep her still. Her breath hitches as she seems to hit the edge of her orgasm, and then comes undone when Castiel tongues at her opening in counter clock to his fingers. The walls of her vagina throb, sucking him deeper and squeezing tightly. Castiel moans, feeling her aftershocks on his tongue and mouth and lips and the bones of his fingers.

He barely manages to stall his own release, not ready for this to be over yet. He hasn’t been properly touched, after all. The bathroom is quiet save for their ragged breathing.

Castiel drops his forehead against her thigh, overwhelmed, and clenches his teeth, feeling them grind as the sting of sweat gets into his eyes. His body is still coiled on the edge of bursting.

Meg pets his hair a couple times and then takes his wrist in a silent command to pull his fingers out. Castiel chokes back a small sound of protest, throat raw. He fears this is already over, fears Meg will send him away like last time. Only this is crueler. Meg has not let him come yet.

It would be poetic justice after the way Castiel had acted last time, though.

He looks up, prepared to beg, only to find her mouth closing warm and wet around his fingers. Meg sucks at her own juices and makes those little dirty noises he thought he’d never get to hear again. The next thing he knows is that he’s pushing inside Meg –No condom. _Again.-,_ as she utters a choked little cry every time he thrusts. The room echoes with the hard slap of skin on skin.

The rough pad of his fingers leave bruises at her hips as her legs wrap around him in a vice. Her heels dig into the small of his back, the top swell of his ass, pushing him forward until he's balls deep into her and then tense when he tries to slip out, trying to keep him inside. Her tank top ends up bunched under her armpits as he licks and sucks and bites at her torso, the valley between her breasts. Her nipples harden and bloom dark under his teeth.

It crashes over Castiel in wave after wave when Meg comes again, a desperate clench of her body around him as his own orgasm follows. He keeps thrusting shallowly as her muscles stay taut and bowstring-tight, before dissolving into a series of violent shudders as she keeps coming and coming, stringing along.

Castiel mewls when he finally stops moving, feeling raw. Meg keeps rutting on his deflating cock, chasing her next orgasm. His ears ring and his head spins, quiet and sated. He tells himself that's the reason why it takes him so long to realize that the vibrations under his mouth had been Meg choking out words and not moans.

"I hate you… _god,_ how I fucking _hate_ you."

The words feel like a bucket of cold water, turning ecstasy to dread as they sink heavy into his stomach. When Meg finally stops jerking Castiel takes a step back, carefully easing away. They both gasp in discomfort as he slips free.

Castiel falls bare-assed on the closed lid of the toilet at his back when his pants trip him. And he’s not sure how much time passes until Meg hands him some paper towels, dressed once again and as cleaned up as she’s going to get.

Castiel gets up and cleans himself with rough movements. He regrets it when he pulls up his pants and tucks himself in, wincing as his boxers chafe against his cock when he zips up.

"What was that?" he finally asks.

Meg casts him a wary glance, uncomprehending. "That was us fucking."

"No. After that." Castiel sneers. " _You_ saying how much you hate _me_."

He’s not quite expecting the look of hurt anger in her eyes. But it doesn't surprise him when Meg turns on her heels and bangs the door close in answer. He feels hollow, standing there in a reversal of their last time.

When Castiel exits the bathroom, he does not go back to the dressing room.

It doesn't stop there, though.

 

 

When Castiel pushes open the door to the bridal shop, desperate for fresh air, he finds Sam leaning against the Impala and flipping through his phone. His chest is heavy with regret and hurt, his mind full of confusing thoughts. Does Meg really hate him? And if so, why are they still having hot sex in random bathrooms?

The youngest Winchester glances up and then does a double take when he takes in Castiel’s appearance.

"Dude," he says, lowering his phone. "You okay? You look like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet…" His eyes widen, seeming to come into a realization. "Did you and Meg have sex? _Again?_ "

Castiel flinches at the sharp tone in Sam’s question. First in guilt and then in anger. He wants to demand who told Sam that particular tidbit of information, because he never told nothing to anyone. But it'd be stupid to ask.

For some unknown reason, Meg and Sam get along _great_ , having clicked from their first meeting way back when Castiel and Meg dated. Everyone thought it weird at the time. Some still do. Ruby merely shrugs it off and goes with it.

Castiel, though... well, he had _assured_ everyone who asked how much he didn't care one way or the other. He knew Sam had fallen for Ruby and vice versa. But the bond between Sam and Meg used to really annoy Castiel in the beginning. It might still do.

Now, though…

Now Castiel calls Sam his friend. But Sam and Meg are something... _closer_. Almost like the bond Castiel share with Dean. Which explains why Dean chose _him_ as best man, Castiel guesses.

"Don’t lie to me Cas," Sam brings him out of his musings. "If I walk into that dressing room right now, all I have to do is take one look at Meg and I’ll know the truth. Did you two have sex?"

"Why do you care?" Castiel lashes out, frustration finally brimming over. "Why is what Meg and I do or don't such a huge deal for you?"

Sam sighs, sliding his phone back into his back pocket. "Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but Meg is… in a hard place, right now. You guys having weird angry sex took more of a toll on her than you imagine. You’re my friend, but so is Meg. And I don’t want to see her get hurt again. No more than she already is."

Castiel sighs, stubbornly clinging to his anger, but he's still curious about what is Meg going through. He walks over to lean against the Impala next to Sam. He needs information, and he doubts Meg is in a talking mood.

"She told me she hates me." He confesses, dejected. "I don’t know why. I thought we broke up on decent terms. That we were kind of friends."

"Friends don’t bang friends in random bathrooms." Sam rolls his eyes.

Castiel glares at him. "Fine. Friends. With benefits. Sometimes."

Sam lets out a dry chuckle, wiping a hand over his face. "You really don’t know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Bella."

The name niggles at a memory in Castiel, bringing forth the image of a dark haired sensuous woman with a cruel smile. One of Dean’s exes. That relationship had been a flash fire; all-consuming and then over within a month.

"What about her?"

"Tom."

That particular name brings forth jealousy and more anger.

"The man Meg was seeing behind my back." he says blandly. Sam raises an eyebrow.

"Her brother?" He clarifies instead. Castiel scoffs and shakes his head.

"She doesn’t have _brothers_ , Sam. She _never_ had."

"Tom is her half-brother." Sam’s voice is tinged with frustration. "Same Dad, different Mother. The dead beat neglectful asshole that left her Mom when she was younger? He was banging other woman on the side when he and her mother were together. Meg and Tom are the same age." Sam’s lip curls in distaste. "Only difference is, Tom is cut from the same cloth as their Dad. Tried to get money out of Meg, and when he couldn’t, he dropped Meg like she was poison. Between you breaking up with her and his betrayal, is it really all that surprising to understand why she's kept away from everyone all this time?"

Castiel frowns. "But Bella said…"

"I know what Bella said. Bella was also a crazy narcissist who loved to start shit. A crazy narcissist whose word you took over a woman's you’d known for years and were supposed to be in love with."

Castiel’s stomach drops. He had been an ass back then and he knows it. The same way he was an ass last month.

No wonder Meg hates him.

He's beginning to hate himself after all these years.

"Sam, I-"

"Hey, assbutts!" Dean leans out the shop's open crystal door, frowning at them both. "Why the hell are you leaving me alone in here with a group of crazy women?"

Sam scoffs, taking out his phone again. "That’s your choice dude."

Dean narrows his eyes at his brother and then cuts his gaze to Castiel. "Get your ass in here and help me."

Castiel sighs, and slides off the car to head back into the shop to deal with a group of angry women and a panicked Dean.

"Hey, Cas?" Sam calls him before the crystal door closes behind him. "You ok?"

"Yeah," Castiel answers, distracted. He's wondering how he's going to fix this mess with Meg. "Yeah, I got this."

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a present for the lovely YukiRose for her birthday. We love you girl!


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